A Templar, A Teuton and a Hospitaller walk into a bar
by Retarded Seal
Summary: A Templar, Hospitaller and a Teuton are thrown into a world of magic and dragons. Will these Soldiers of Light survive the frozen wastes of Skyrim?
1. Chapter 1

The cold was deep and cutting. The air, thin and barely breathable. If he hadn't worn appropriate clothing then he would have surely died from the frost. But with the grace of God, he remembered to bring with him a cloak. His steps were slow and heavy, his boot leaving a trail on the snowy road. His eyes scanned the road and the adjacent forest. One could never be too careful regarding wolves or the dimwitted bandit. While he was alone, he was confident that his skills and God's protection would see him through any obstacle. It would take a dragon to beat him.

His name was Godrey. A knight of the Holy Order of Saint John the Hospitaller or to simply put, the Knights Hospitaller. He was on the road to deliver a message to the ruling French monarch. Normally such missives were done by novices or servants but he had volunteered for the mission as it allowed him to visit his sister and nephews who had taken residence in Paris after the death of his brother-in-law. He had missed his remaining family members dearly. The most he missed was his nephew, Little Jon, The little rascal was a precocious child that vision to be a Knight like his uncle. And that Godfrey humored. Besides, it allowed him to move and stretch his muscles.

Perhaps it was simply wanderlust. He did not enjoy the long hours of being cooped in their castle-headquarters. While it was large and had many interesting places, he believed that the best place that their Order could fulfill their duties was at the field and among the peasantry. Not in some castle. They were Knights for heaven's sake! Not some petty-princes ruling petty-kingdoms!

He shook his mind off his thoughts. He needed to focus on his road after all.

Along the road, he had met two different knights of two different orders.

Reynard, A Knight Templar and Sibrand, A knight of the Teutonic Order.

Reynard was a...interesting figure. The Templars were known for their...zeal and the Templar he met was no exception. But compared to other Templars that he met, he saw that he was certainly a reasonable figure. It wasn't that his faith was lacking, it was more of a difference in practice. His own Prior had encouraged silent faith. Jesus himself had preached that faith must be silent for God himself can see through the penitent soul. He would of course not mention that in the Templars' presence. That is if he wanted to return home with a face still intact.

Sibrand was the opposite of his Templar friend. While Reynard was a loudmouth, Sibrand was silent. If he did speak, if he ever spoke at all, it was after a long meditative silent. Sometimes, he wondered how the two became friends.

As they traveled together, he had lost them in the snowy road. He had tried backtracking but he found no track of them. So he continued on his journey, offering his new found friends silent prayers.

It was then that he heard a loud piercing cry coming from the distance.

He dropped to his knees and listened. From the distance came shouts of men and the clashing of steel. Two voices he recognized.

Reynard! Sibrand!

Rushing to his feet, he slung over his kite shield and unsheathed his longsword. He gave a prayer to the Blessed Virgin to grant him speed before rushing off to find his friends. 

* * *

Reynard grunted as he deflected a downward swipe with his shield. His opponent, barely his height, was skilled. That he could see. He pulled back, and seeing the opportunity, brought his sword straight into the man's throat.

Yes he was skilled. But not as skilled as him.

Looking around him, he could see that he and Sibrand were surrounded by strange foemen. But to him it was good. It meant they could fight at all sides.

Sibrand's thoughts were different. He cursed the high heavens that he ever met the Templar. He had done his best to keep his distance but for some reason, the Templar would find him and immediately rant and rave about different topics. He swore that the man was going to be death of him someday.

Both men were travelling the road, having recently lost sight of a Hospitaller that they met a few moons back when they met a surprising and confusing sight.

A troop of men wearing armour reminiscent of Roman troops had appeared and demanded them to stop. Even more surprising when he saw that their leader was a _woman._ He had wanted to talk, to negotiate. But Reynard had to step in and ruin such notions. First, he went and insulted the troop, calling them "cheap mummers" and he went and threw profanities at the woman.

Then the rest was history.

For now, they were holding their ground. But he knew not how long they would last until they would succumb to exhaustion. They needed help. Reincforcements.

And it came from somewhere unsuspected.

Foemen were tossed and cut as a black shadow pierced through them. As it came closer towards them, he saw that it was the Hospitaller, Godfrey!

"I see that you have stirred a nest!" remarked Godfrey. The men had huddled closer to each other, their backs against one another, their shields raised and weapons ready. More of their foes had arrived and they soon formed a circle around the three men.

"About time, Hospitaller!" roared Reynard

"What happened? Who are we fighting!?" demanded Godfrey.

As Sibrand was about to speak, Reynard beat him to it.

"It matters little on who we fight! What matters is that they dare to attack Soldiers of Chirst! Come my brethren! Let us show these filth the power of Christ! DEUS VULT!"

Sibrand reached to stop him but the Templar had already attacked.

And so, the battle began in skirmish.

Reynard was like a whirlwind. His longsword cutting down foes left and right, he preferred a more offensive stance and delivered powerful blows. Sibrand was the opposite, preferring defense over offence. With his towering height and shield, he proved quite the warrior. As soon as opportunity presented itself, he would swoop in and crack skulls with his hard mace. Godfrey was a mix of both worlds. Attacking when he could, defending if need be.

The battle dragged on until fourteen men lay dead or dying at their feet. With heavy huffs, the three men raised a cheer, the loudest being Reynard.

But victory proved far, as more and more soldiers rushed in. They were more heavily armoured and had brought archers. The knights, preparing for another battle, raised their weapons.

"Drop your weapons!" shouted an authoritative voice.

The three men turned to the side and saw a man on a horse. He was old but still carried the aura of a dangerous and skilled man. A respectable figure to be sure.

"I will not repeat myself again! Drop your weapons!"

"Over my dead body!" retorted Reynard. Sibrand almost wanted to hit himself for the Templars' stupidity.

"You ask for battle that you cannot win." intoned the man. The sound of string being pulled resonated through the air.

Godfrey weighed his options. He had no idea on who they were fighting but he could guess that it was due to the over zealousness of his Templar friend. He could go and fight but that meant certain death. And so, with a heavy sigh, he dropped his sword and shield on the ground.

"Godfrey, what in god's name are you doing!?" screamed the Templar. Sibrand, seeing that the Hospitaller had taken initiative, followed his example.

Reynard, seeing that he stood little chance of survival, groaned and reluctantly lowered his arms.

As soon as they dropped their weapons, the soldiers rushed forward and began binding the men in cuffs.

The last thing Godfrey saw was the struggling Templar and the stoic Teuton being taken away before something knocked him unconscious. 

* * *

AN: Taken from my SB account. This is another fic idea. Our three favorite knightly orders in a world of magic and dragons.

If ya'll see any historical errors, do please inform me. And for the sake of the fic, not everything is going to be historical m'kay?


	2. Chapter 2

"Godfrey!" A voice rumbled.

Was someone calling for him?

"GODFREY!"

With a gasp, the Hospitaller was roused from his sleep. As light settled on the knights eyes, he could see Reynard staring at him. Next to him was Sibrand and another man dressed in a brown gambeson with a blue sash that extended from his shoulder to his belt. They were all bound in chains. He could see that they were on a wagon surrounded by their 'Roman" foemen. Where they were headed he had little clue but he had an idea on where.

Perhaps he should give his comrades a...heads-up on where they were heading.

"Thank God that you still draw breath." breathed Reynard. His face was dirty and his red hair unkempt, most likely due to the treatment they received from their captors. Sibrand for the most part still looked decent but had at least the signs of being manhandled. A pain coursed through his body. The impact he received from earlier was certainly done with the intent to knock him out. Why they didn't knock the other knights out was seemingly unfair to the Hospitaller.

"What has happened?" asked Godfrey, finally. As Sibrand was about to answer him, Reynard beat him yet again.

"As soon as those heathens..." He motioned towards the 'Romans' "…Knocked you out, they herded us along with this man..." He gestured to the men next to him, the brown haired stranger offered them a puzzled look. "...onto these wagons. I know not where we are going but I assume that we are headed for execution."

The mood of the wagon was grim. As the Templar finished his sentence, it became all the more depressing.

Godfrey's face fell. While he was a dedicated Hospitaller. He was still quite not ready to meet his maker. He was still seven-and twenty for God's sake! At least let him see the world before falling into the arms of the Father! His mind worked for ideas, plans that he and his brothers-in-arms might escape.

Reynard darkened as the convoy drove on. He could see the outline of a town ahead and already he could spot out men on its walls tying out spikes. He was a Templar damn it! If he were to die, he was to die in the name of God and not to be executed in some town like some common bandit!

Sibrand may have been silent but his mind worked to its limit on figuring an escape. He had no plans of dying and he still wanted to reach the rank of Grandmaster. He had worked his entire life to get to where he was. And to die in a petty-town like the one they were headed to would mean that his life and his ambition would be wasted.

Eventually, the convoy neared the gate. Godfrey took note of its defenses lest he and his comrades escape. It had thick,wooden doors and high walls that reached high. On the walls were archers. If they escaped, then they were in for a hard one. It would be even harder as the 'Romans' had confiscated their weapons. Reynard pointed out that their weapons lay safely tucked in a wagon at the end of the convoy.

"Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?" He heard a boy said as the convoy passed by a house.

"You need to go inside, little cub." whispered a man, most likely the boy's father.

But the convoy was already too far gone for him to hear. Soon enough, the convoy reached the town square. At the side, he could see a hooded man sharpening a axe. An executioner.

At that moment, a stream of prayers exited his mouth. 

* * *

Freyja's face fell as she and other prisoners were ordered to disembark. Her face was a mask of stoic silence but inside, she was one terrified puppy. After a three long years, she had to return home just in time for a Civil War to commence, just in time to be captured alongside Stormcloaks. She was no fool. She had heard stories of rebellion from the Imperial Capital. Most Nords that she met were neutral in the matter but she could guess that their sympathies were with the Stormcloaks.

"Why are we stopping?" asked the wide-eyed thief from Riften.

"Why do you think?" answered Ralof, the Stormcloak that conversed with her earlier. "End of the line. Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

The thief however, was having none of it. He turned towards one of the guards and begged, pleaded to be released as he was not a rebel. If the guards knew about it or even cared, they weren't saying anything.

"Face your death with dignity, thief." said Ralof. The man turned towards Ralof, his eyes wide and terrified.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!" cried the man. She allowed herself to smile a bit. The man hadn't forgotten her. But whatever it was, Ralof ended it by looking the other way.

"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time." announced the captain. She had likened to call the Imperial officer as Lady Bitchfit. That was an appropriate name for an appropriate bitch.

"Empire loves their damned lists..." muttered Ralof.

The man standing next to Lady Bitchfit, a Nord with brown hair, began the list.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm."

In strode the Jarl of Windhelm and the Leader of Skyrim's Independence movement. Even if he was bound and gagged, he still walked with dignity and pride. An inspiring figure that could be said of him. If this was a different occasion, she would have been excited to meet such a man. But they were here getting executed. The feeling of excitement gets thrown away when a one way ticket to Sovngarde was on the horizon.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!" shouted Ralof

"Ralof of Riverwood. Lokir of Rorikstead." droned the man.

Both men called strode forward. She wasn't sure if it was her but did she detect sparks blowing off from the two men? She shook her head off such matters. It wasn't her business. It would be disrespectful to intrude. Lokir the thief, had different thoughts in mind. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, he tried to dash towards the gates, shouting as he ran.

He only reached a few steps until his back was filled with many arrows.

"Anyone else feel like running?" yelled the Captain. Not a single soul moved. Lady Bitchfit motioned for the man to continue. As the man locked eyes with her, a confused expression fell on his face. He turned pages on his ledger but soon stopped.

"You there!" He called out to her. "Who are you?"

Briefly gathering her thoughts, she replied.

"Freyja."

The man turned to Lady Bitchfit, worry in his eyes.

"Captain. She is not on the list."

Her hopes increased. Perhaps she would be saved? It was then that her hopes were taken, placed inside a mortar and smashed repeatedly by a pestle.

"Forget the list. She goes to the block."

Her world was a blur. Shock taking hold of her. She felt as if she were floating, her body nothing but a physical vessel moving on its own. She felt walking but it was not of her will. She witnessed many things. She witnessed the Imperial General confronting Ulfric. She saw a Priestess offering prayers but was interrupted when a Stormcloak strode forward and offered his throat to the executioner.

Everything was a blur until her eyes rested on three men. The first man wore a black tabard with a white cross on its chest. Over him was a black surcoat adorned with two white crosses. His facial expression was of a resigned man. The next man wore the same attire as the first man except his tabard was white with a red cross sewn onto his chest. His face was one of defiance. The last man was similarly dressed. With a white tabard and a grey cross.

She looked closer until she saw that a nearly translucent white aura was around the men. Nothing else ever mattered. The world was a blur to her, but when she looked at them, she nothing but perfect clarity. 

* * *

As the group drew closer towards the block, Sibrand despair grew. He had looked around but found nothing. He could see that Godfrey had given up and resigned to his fate. Raynard was being Raynard. Two men had gone up and held the Templar in place but the red-bearded Knight had refused to submit, instead calling the men "Bloody Byzantines!" or "Goat-fucking pus-livered heathens!"

He would have wanted to chastise the Templar but they were going to die anyway. Better let the man return to God with his pride still intact.

Godfrey closed his eyes and prayed, He had never prayed so hard in his life. He asked, begged, pleaded for the Lord God to grant them salvation. He would do anything, _anything_. Even if the Lord commanded him to slay Lucifer, he would do it.

From the corner of his ear, he heard a roar.

"Was that you lord?" thought the Hospitaller. It was growing louder by the minute. The Hospitaller even prayed harder. Perhaps the Lord God was speaking to him?

"What in the Divine's name is that!?" He heard a shout.

"It's coming from the clouds!"

What?

Suddenly, he was thrown back onto the dirt, as if a strong wind had knocked him from his feet. Slowly opening his eyes, he came face to face with a monstrous, black spiky...

"Dragon." whispered the Hospitaller.

The beast had perched itself on top of a tower. It leaned back, breathed in and roared. 


End file.
